


Good Enough

by Babylawyer



Series: Rockin' Around [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23966338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babylawyer/pseuds/Babylawyer
Summary: Finding out she's having a girl brings up some demons for Regina
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Robin Hood
Series: Rockin' Around [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557523
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	Good Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Fulfilling the prompt: Robin and Regina finding out the sex and Regina being worried because it's a girl

"Congratulations, it's a girl!"

Words that should have made her happy, should have had her over the moon ecstatic like Robin was, dropped a well of anxiety right down inside of her instead. It's what she wanted, what _they_ wanted, and she's been convinced this baby was a girl, it shouldn't have been a big deal—but it was; it changed everything.

It's one thing to suspect something, to believe that it's true, and another to have it confirmed.

It's real now.

She's having a girl.

Their baby is a girl.

_A girl_.

This is what she thought she wanted, _is_ what she wanted, but from the moment she heard those words, she thought of her mother, of the pressures she faced when she was younger, of the toll having Regina had on her mother.

She cannot raise a girl. The only thing she knows of raising girls she learned from her mother. She cannot be Cora, she cannot, but god, what if she is?

She can't do this. She will fail. She will fuck her up. God, her poor baby. She cannot do this, she can't.

Robin is over the fucking moon and she is overwhelmed, overcome by how much she is going to fail their daughter. Things had been going so well, she's working through the anxiety, the fears of what will happen to her, of becoming Cora. She honestly thought she was getting past it (should have known better, that kind of trauma doesn't disappear overnight), she should have planned for a setback, should have booked a damn therapy appointment after this because how the fuck does she explain to Robin how she's feeling right now? She needs some kind of validation, needs to get over it, needs to do something that is not this.

She cannot be with him right now. It's making her feel sick, broken and awful. Then she feels guilty for feeling that way, would never want him to know his perfectly normal and valid feelings are doing that to her.

She's actually nauseous, her stomach roiling in response to the influx of emotions of adrenaline. She tries to calm herself, calm her stomach, but it's futile.

She takes in slow, measured breaths, but they don't do much, and all of a sudden it's too hot. As the bile rises, she opens the window, and the cold air whips at her, finally taking the edge off.

"Are you okay?" Robin asks from beside her as she breathes in the cold air, and she nods, her face still out of the window as she answers him.

"Just nauseous, it will pass."

His one hand finds her thigh and squeezes, a reminder that he'll stop if she needs it following the action, which she really hopes won't be necessary. She's had god awful heartburn, but hasn't done a lot of puking, and doesn't want to start now.

Without the distraction of her sudden nausea, her mind flits back to how awful this is, how awful she is.

It's all a mess, a huge fucking mess. She hates her mother for ruining this. Cora has ruined so much of Regina's life already. Ruined her childhood, the start of this pregnancy and now this too.

She doesn't want to give her mother that. Dammit, she deserves better, this baby deserves better.

She should be jumping for joy, but here is yet another thing Cora has stolen from her, and she's livid.

It's not fair, this is not how this is supposed to be. She can never let her baby girl know any of these things, hopes to god that she cannot sense her mother's distress. It's not fair to her, to this sweet, innocent baby girl who has done nothing wrong, who is a miracle and who Regina loves unconditionally. She loves her so much and that's part of why her imminent failure is so horrifying.

She needs her baby girl to know that it's not about her, it's not something she's done, she's perfect, beautiful, worthy of celebration. This is Regina's issue, one she's trying to work through but got overconfident in her progress about.

It is about her and her mother, Regina and Cora, not about this precious baby girl. She doesn't know how to project that to her, if it's even necessary, but she needs this sweet baby inside her to know that.

She needs to work through this. She cannot be so conflicted, cannot suffer through these warring emotions once their baby girl is here. She has to fix herself for the baby, and for her—they both deserve better.

But for now, she's fucking terrified. Terrified to mess her child up—not such an irrational fear but it's shrouded in years of verbal abuse, fear of _this,_ and guilt. It's an awful conglomerate that just makes her feel sick and horrible.

A good mother wouldn't think this way.

A good other would be happy.

She is _not_ a good mother.

Doctor Hopper would have a field day with that one, she knows that because it's deeper than just this pregnancy, and she's been trying to pretend this pregnancy is her only issue, but they both know better. You don't survive a childhood with Cora without lasting psychological scars that rear their heads at inopportune times.

They've talked about this, once, her and Doctor Hopper, about her general feelings of failure as a mother. She'd told him she was just feeling down that day, that this isn't something that happens to her often, but she was lying.

She didn't want to admit how bad she is now, it's been exacerbated with this pregnancy and she didn't want him to doubt her parenting—though maybe he should. Normally she could reassure herself with how well Henry is doing but there is that little voice that creeps in from time to time and wonders how much better he would be doing with a different (better) parent. As Henry turns into a sullen moody teenager, it's gotten worse, and she can't help but wonder if he'd be this way if she'd had a firmer hand, if she'd listened to her mother's advice—which is stupid, because look at their clusterfuck of a mother daughter relationship, but yet.

Her mother's influence cuts deep and she really needed to dig into it earlier than now, she's forty-one, had ample opportunity but didn't. She can't fix that, cannot go back and change the past, no matter how much she wants to.

If she could, she'd go back to when she moved out, she'd get herself in some free school-sponsored therapy and cut Cora's toxic influence out of her life. But she didn't, wasn't strong enough for it, and she's still paying for it.

She thinks this might be it though, she might finally be able to do what she should have years and years ago and cut her mother off. It's what's best for her, it's what's best for her baby.

If she can't do it for herself, she needs to do it for their children.

She hasn't even told Cora that she's pregnant, had heard enough about her inappropriate and harried wedding, about how terrible it was for her to not to invite her mother—Cora ignoring of course that Regina did invite her (only because she knew Cora would say no, but still).

Now she's having a girl, and Robin is babbling eagerly in the car while she only half listens, and god, she is terrible.

A terrible wife, terrible daughter, terrible mother…

No, No.

But fuck, she doesn't know what to say to him, knows he would want her to talk about it, but she doesn't know how.

How do you describe something that you yourself don't fully understand?

She feels this pit of dread, this sense of inevitable failure. She knows she is not good enough for this baby, that she cannot be the mother that their baby girl should have.

Regina's good isn't good enough, and it never will be. That's Cora in her head, she knows that, but her mother is right. This one time she is right. Regina is not enough, she will never be enough, she has the worst parent in the world to look at for guidance. All she can offer is better than Cora, but that's not a hard goal to meet.

This baby deserves the best, and she'll have that with Robin, but with Regina, with her mother, she's screwed.

She must be doing a good job hiding her turmoil because Robin doesn't comment on it, just shares his excitement as she plasters a smile on her face that doesn't reach her eyes.

They'll talk about it later, but for now, she needs to act happy. Their boys are waiting, Henry excitedly, and Roland, well, he's hit and miss whether he likes his sister or hates her with every fibre of his being.

For a moment she almost hopes he's having one of those days, where he'll be unhappy about it, because that will take the pressure off of her, but that's _horrendous_. What kind of a mother roots for that? For her child to be hated by their sibling? For her other child to be pained by a revelation?

She's terrible, everything is terrible but she needs to focus, be happy. She is happy, she needs to show happiness.

She is happy about this, she is, she will be, she'll fake it until she makes it.

The boys know they had the scan and Henry's waiting dutifully, his excitement clear as he asks when they are only half in the door, "So what is it?"

"A girl," she tells him, smiling in a way that is far too forced but his face splits into a huge grin, and as soon as she's in the door he wraps his arms around her in a big hug that pushes away the dark cloud hanging over her for the duration of his embrace. But all too soon it all comes back, all of the doubts rushing through her.

Roland doesn't say much of anything, and when Robin pushes, asks if he's happy about his sister, he just shrugs, then asks if they can have pizza for dinner, a suggestion that makes her chuckle as her mouth waters over the promise of pizza.

More prodding doesn't get any reaction from Roland, and Robin eventually relents realizing enthusiasm is not something he's going to get from his son, not today.

Robin is more worried about it than she is, a rarity, thinks that they need to do something to make Roland like his baby sister, as if that wouldn't backfire in their faces.

It will work itself out, or it won't, but it's not the end of the world if Roland isn't interested in his sister. There's no use worrying about it. She knows the irony of that, feels it every time she gives Robin that advice given all the things that she stresses over. But her demons are different and as much as he tries Robin doesn't quite understand them, and how could he?

It's only later, after dinner, once Roland is in bed and Henry's locked up in his room playing god knows what on his computer that she makes an effort to talk it out with Robin.

She doesn't particularly want to bare her soul right now, but she knows she can't keep this from him so she bites the bullet, or tries to.

"Robin," she starts then promptly loses her nerve, ends up looking down at her lap, at her clasped hands.

"What's up, darling?" he asks from beside her on the couch, and if he turns his head toward her, she doesn't see it, too focused on a non-existent speck on her pants.

She takes a breath in, tells herself she can do this, and raises her eyes, turning her head to him. His eyes are on the TV, on the episode of The Crown she'd normally be engrossed in but can't focus on because of all that's racing through her mind.

"I'm scared," is all she manages to get out before shame slithers up her spine and chokes her.

That gets his attention, he turns to her, as the sound cuts off from the TV, with eyes full of concern.

"What's wrong?" he asks, and she can hear the distress in his voice, the worry he's trying to tamp down for her sake, and this is exactly what she didn't want.

"Nothing is wrong with the baby," she assures, which melts some of the tension from his formerly rigid posture.

It's a hard pregnancy for both of them, in very different ways. He lost his first wife in childbirth and for the most part, he's over the moon, but there are these moments like this one, where he will think the worst, and will jump to the wrong conclusion, where old fears come rushing in.

What a pair they are. Between his hyper awareness of the dangers of pregnancy and her mommy issues a happy, easy pregnancy was never in the cards for them.

She stutters out, "I just… um, I can't…"

Fuck, god why is this so hard to say? This is Robin, she's said worse to him before and he's still here. He's not going to leave, she knows that and that he won't look down on her (though he should).

She sees the moment he realizes, and she buries her face into his chest, hiding the truth he's already seen because it's too mortifying, too terrible.

His hand combs through her hair, brushing aside the locks that fell forward and provided a cover.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." He's using that light, gentle tone, the one that's so soothing, and she lets it and his soft caresses balm her, soaks up the comfort of his presence.

When she finally looks up it's to worried but kind eyes, his one hand finds her chin, tilting it up as he leans down and presses his lips to hers, whispering _I love you_ in the space between them as he pulls apart.

He is too good to her. At least she did this right, at least their baby girl has one incredible parent.

"You aren't happy," he says, and it's not a question which burns her, has that shame welling up again.

It's not that, it's more than that… "It's—it's complicated."

"Okay, that's _okay_." His arm reaches behind her back, settling on her hip, as he tells her, "You don't have to hide anything from me, you know that, right?"

She nods, wanting nothing more than to shrink away and hide, but she's not going to do that. When he asks, "Do you want to talk about it?" she huffs a long sigh because the answer is no, but she should. She knows this is one of those times she needs to push past the discomfort and speak the words, no matter how ugly.

"No. But I'm going to."

"Okay," he breathes, his one hand running down her arm, the other moving from her waist to settle on her shoulder. "Do you need anything?"

She shakes her head, but says nothing, can't quite bring herself to say the words yet, but it doesn't matter. Robin doesn't make her feel like she needs to fill the silence just yet. She can take her moment, can just sit here, could just sit here all night and he'd never act like it was a waste of time, or rush her to get on with it.

So she sits, absorbing the support that rolls off of him, relishing in the soft touches and comfort of his warmth snuggled against her.

She goes to kiss his cheek before she starts, stretching up in a way that makes her back twinge and has her grimacing.

His brow furrows, "Are you okay?"

She nods, twisting her spine until that discomfort abates, leaving her with the general ache in her back from the new weight that she just has to grin and bear.

Then she kisses him, a soft peck to his cheek, a silent thank you to him for all that he does.

It can't be easy dealing with all of her ups and downs, but he almost tricks her into thinking that it is.

"I don't think I can raise a girl."

"Why not?" He says it without judgment, a simple question. He's not judging, she knows he's not, but the question has her feeling defensive, wanting to snap at him, but she reins in the impulse.

In addition to the aches and pains and the general moodiness, this pregnancy has her temper on a short fuse, and more than once she's had to bite her tongue lest she lash out against undeserving members of her household.

Now is definitely not the time to let her anger fly out, no matter how satisfying it would be.

Still, her answer carries a bit of snark she can't seem to keep at bay. "'Why not?' Because my mother is horrible, because all I know of raising girls I know from her. Because I am fucking terrifed of going all Cora on this poor baby girl and ruining her life."

"Regina, love, we've been over this—you are not your mother, you are never going to be your mother."

She gets that it's supposed to help but it just feels like he's coddling her, trying to placate fears he doesn't put any stock in. He may think that notion is ridiculous, but he is wrong, and besides, "You can't know that you've never even met my mother."

"I don't need to, I know you. You are an incredible mother. Henry, Roland, and this baby girl we should really start talking about names for, are so lucky to have you."

They're not, he's wrong, but she's not going to convince him of that.

It's officially a bad day, and maybe tomorrow she will feel better, and maybe she won't.

She whispers, "I don't see it that way."

His own gaze softens, the smile he has been flashing her falling into a sad expression she instantly feels guilty for putting on his face. "I know, love. But you will, in time."

She's not so sure about that, doesn't even realize she's shaking her head until he stops her with a, "No, trust me you will. I know you will. You haven't always felt like this, have you?"

She shakes her head again, a confirmation that yes, he's right, the feelings of failure haven't always been _this_ bad.

His lips upturn at that, "See? And don't think for a minute that I'm not also scared to fuck her up. It's normal."

Not the way she fears it, she knows that. "No, this is far past normal."

"Be that as it may, I have faith in you, in us." His left hand makes its way onto her belly, resting over where their baby sits. "We already love her so much, that's what she needs. You are not going to be like your mother, that is not what you do to someone you love. You are already better than her."

That makes her eyes burn, and her breath hitches as her chest goes tight. It's not as though she's never had that exact thought, has shared it with him before, but it hits differently hearing it from him.

His mouth purses when he notices the unshed tears, and he's breathing, "I'm sorry, love," into her hair, as she tries to keep them at bay.

"It's not…" dammit, she can do this, she is not about to cry. "It's not your fault my mother's a monster."

"It's not yours either."

That one is debatable, but she's not about to fight him on it because what's the point? She's tired now, and she doesn't want to continue this, doesn't want to think about this anymore.

So she reaches (unsuccessfully at first, forgetting she can't lean like she used to) for the remote on the coffee table, flicking back on their episode once she gets it in her hand. She's going to lose herself in someone else's story, in someone else's conflict.

It's a gamble, and she can tell Robin's not pleased by the expression that crosses his face, but he doesn't say anything, so she takes it as a win.

They'll talk about it later, actually no, they won't, tomorrow, maybe, she's done for the day. There will be no more emotional conversations, she is going to sit with her husband, drown out the thoughts, and hope that tomorrow brings a better day.

* * *

The morning brings with it more aches and a general exhaustion that makes her long for coffee. She curses herself for thinking of it, for allowing herself to dream of the taste of the hot, bitter brew on her lips, because she cannot get it out of her head. She craves a cup of coffee so badly, more than anything else she's not able to have, and she _longs_ for it. Not a day has gone by that she hasn't wished for one, hasn't pictured how good it would feel and indulged in the fantasy. But it's just that, a fantasy—because the one day she couldn't take it anymore and brewed herself a small cup, it amped up her heartburn worse than it's ever been. She was stuck with a roiling stomach, could feel the acid churning inside her, a throbbing in her chest that nothing would abate.

It was awful, and so she just dreams, dreams of what coffee will be like when it doesn't cause her such intense pain. She yearns for it, but doesn't satiate it.

It takes her a while to remember what had her so upset, too caught up in her fantasies of things she can't have. When she does a sharp pinch of fear lances through her, but she manages to expel it (or at least tells herself she did) with a few cleansing breaths.

Then there are boys to be roused and fed, providing a welcome distraction. When Henry jabbers on about how awesome his sister is going to be and Roland rolls his eyes adorably, she laughs, feeling lighter and airier than she has since they got the news.

When she gets to work and gives Tink the news, the tight hug her friend gives her also bolsters her spirits, as does the giggled admission that follows it.

"I _knew_ it!" Tink exclaims, grinning proudly, one that goes impish as she tells Regina, "Haha, suck it John and Mulan, those losers each owe me twenty bucks."

She laughs as she thinks about that silly bet from Christmas over their baby's gender, and as Tink babbles about how great it's going to be and all the things they can buy her and dress her in, excitement flickers.

She wants all these things, it's part of why she wanted a girl, now she gets to have them. Gets to experience what having a girl is like. She's still unbelievably terrified, but has therapy tonight and is hoping they can unpack that over the next few sessions so she can settle back into excitement and happiness, can achieve perhaps not Tink's level of giddiness, but an overall positivity about her incredible daughter.

Regina deserves that, they both do, and she's going to get there. This is what she wanted, and she is happy about their daughter, it lingers underneath and once she puts in the work to rid herself of the shroud of fear that mars it all, it will be amazing.

She has to stop herself from laughing aloud when Tink suggests a gender reveal party, as if Regina would _ever_. Her appalled haughtiness sets Tink off, and she realizes she's been played. Tink knows her better than to suggest that seriously, has heard her time and again groan over and belittle those absolutely absurd parties.

At least Regina's not one of _those_ parents, has the good sense not to do something so asinine. And hey, there's a good thing about her, there's something she wouldn't have thought in her spiral of self-loathing yesterday.

As she rests her hand on her stomach, where her daughter sits below the surface, Regina feels a surge of love for her baby girl so strong it almost takes her breath away. She has a fierce need to protect her, to ensure no harm ever comes to her, and she will do her best to ensure that never happens. She can't prevent every hurt or harm, but there are things she can do. She will work through her own scars, will ensure she is the best damn mother she can be. That's all she can do, and it'll be enough.


End file.
